The Walking Dead Game: A Lilly Fan-Fiction
by TheGeorgieB
Summary: Nine months after the events of The Walking Dead Game, Lilly now leads a group of survivors at Tent City, a safe zone from the walker threat. However, the arrival of Peter and his step-son Jesse may change that forever. When the outbreak of war threatens the group, it is up to Lilly to protect Tent City and its people in this story of adventure, revenge and redemption.


**Hey, guys! So this is the first chapter in a series of fan-fiction that follows Lilly, a character from Telltale's The Walking Dead Video Game, months after seperating from Lee's group in Episdoe Three: Long Road Ahead. The series also includes a number of original characters in an original story that I hope you'll all enjoy! If you do, please leave a REVIEW!**

Chapter One

Goodbye to Childhood

It occurs to Peter Marsh as Jesse, who is but an eight-year-old boy, leads him down the long and winding road, that perhaps things should be the other way round. Peter's wife (Jesse's mother) was always the strongest out of the three. Her death at the hands of walkers left the group shattered beyond repair – a family portrait split halfway, leaving Peter and Jesse alone in this cruel and unforgiving excuse for a world. Since then, it has been Jesse who has kept the group together. The boy continues to lead, checking for predators hiding in the trees on either side of the road. Peter is proud of the boy, but can't help but feel that he himself should be the one keeping the group together. Instead it is Jesse, a young boy at the peak of childhood well on his way to becoming a man, who must bear that weight.

"Slow down, son," Peter begs of his stepson, not because he fears for his safety, but because he is struggling to keep up with the much fitter, much younger lad. It may be the first time since his mother died that Jesse does not protest to being called "son" by Peter.

"You wanted to find this place before sundown," Jesse reminds his older step-father, not taking his gaze off the long road ahead as he speaks, his voice as flat and dutiful as a private reporting to his commander, all that's missing is the "sir" at the end of his sentence.

It is true. By any means necessary, Peter Marsh wants to be off this road by the time the sun, one of the few sources of both light and heat left in this drenched and empty world, disappears beneath the sky, leaving Peter and his stepson to cower in the dark and the cold, waiting to be picked off one by one by whatever evil lies beyond the long pine trees that surround them.

Breathing heavily, Peter slings his backpack from over his shoulder into his hands in one clumsy movement that allows for a couple of tin cans to slip out of the bag, rattling with loud, metallic sounds as they hit the concrete ground below. The clattering sounds are heard by Jesse, who spins round almost immediately to shoot his stepfather a look of a hundred daggers. Peter knows what his stepson is about to say, but he says it anyway.

"Dammit," Jesse begins his lecture by cursing his stepfather for his clumsiness, though it's a trait he has become well accustomed to, "if I can hear that, so can _they_!" he reminds Peter as he gestures towards the silent stalkers in the woods; the ones that hide in the shadows but show their faces whenever a potential meal presents itself.

"I know, I'm sorry, son," Peter apologises as he kneels down and picks up the tin cans of peeled peaches and tomatoes before returning them to their slot in the otherwise mostly empty backpack. He then pulls out from the backpack what he'd originally sought after: a bottle of fresh, clean tap water. It was still cold from when he'd picked it from its place buried beneath a mountain of ice in a small, cool freezer he had come across in an old, abandoned supermarket; one he and Jesse had sacked for supplies mere hours ago. That supermarket was the last sign of civilization he and Jesse had come across before beginning their long, tiresome journey down this seemingly never ending road.

That was, until Jesse had spotted, with his two eagle eyes, a flyer taped to a telephone pole promoting a charity auction being held at a nearby church on the 12th December, a date Jesse had also cleverly worked out was almost a year ago now. But it wasn't the church's auction that was so important to Peter, it was what had been hand written on the back of the flyer in black felt pen that had sent him and his stepson journeying down this road with a faint but existing glimmer of hope for survival. Peter had been going over the words in his head again and again, like a man pinching himself again and again in case he was simply dreaming:

FOLLOW THE ROAD ALL THE WAY TO THE CHURCH, THEN TAKE THE NEXT LEFT TO TENT CITY.

The following words had been added in red ink at what looked like a much later time. By the untidiness of the writer's handwriting, Peter guessed they had been in somewhat of a hurry:

WE ARE STILL ALIVE.

It was those extra four words that repeated themselves over and over in Peter's head. Whoever these people were, they weren't about to let the rest of the world forget about them; an attitude Peter admired enough to seek these people out. Not only that, but it had been almost three months since Peter has so much as seen another living human being. Never before had he been so excited to be approaching somewhere still ruled by the living. Had he known the events that were to follows his arrival in Tent City, perhaps Peter Marsh may not have been so eager to arrive there.

* * *

Hours pass by minutes, minutes like seconds, the only evidence that exists to remind Peter for just how long he has been walking is the transformation of what began as a great, striking pain in Peter's sore and tired legs turning into nothing but numbness, turning Peter's steps from strides to stumbles.

The last several minutes have seen Peter and Jesse, who still leads on three or four feet in front, traversing a road that takes them round a slow but sure turn. When the trees clear, no longer blocking their view, the church the flyer described comes into sight. It's an ancient building riddled with signs of both its uncountable age and the hardship it has endured in that time. Once beautiful stained glasses have been smashed by bandits, soldiers, or both. Its gardens have been fiercely neglected, allowing for many overgrown vines to swallow up the church, making it look jungle-like, whilst the grass has also overgrown, making merely approaching the church doors an unbeatable challenge. The church's roof is now practically non-existent. But it's not the sight of the roofless church that has been swallowed up by its own garden and left to die that disturbs Peter – it's the lonely four wheel drive that sits by the side of the road, about twenty feet from the church, that leaves Peter with his mouth open.

When Peter notices Jesse slowly wrapping his right hand around the butt of his gun, he takes a second, closer look at the jeep.

That's when Peter sees the driver.

The man stands a couple of feet in front of his car, stood on his tip toes and facing the bushes opposite. It soon dawns on Peter that the man has pulled over to take a piss, and doesn't seem to pose any kind of immediate threat. But that hasn't stopped Jesse from drawing his firearm.

Peter is about to whisper a quite but firm instruction to Jesse; one that implores him to put his gun away before they are spotted. But it's too late. Peter sees now that the man, still emptying his bladder at this point, is now sending them both a hearty wave from down the road. Peter returns the gesture; a move that convinces Jesse to holster his weapon.

"What do we do?" Jesse asks his stepdad, breaking the silence that has fallen upon them for the past couple of hours. It's the first time in a good while that Jesse has turned to his stepfather for suggestions, but Jesse hasn't so much as seen another human being in weeks, never mind spoken to one. It's also, at this moment in time, questionable whether or not this stranger is to be trusted.

"We remember our manners," Peter encourages Jesse as he buries his hands in his pockets, trying to act as natural as possible. He begins to realise just how long it's been; he can barely remember how other people have come to act in this cursed and conflicted world. "As long as we do that, we can't go too wrong," he hopes, unsure of whether or not it remains true.

Peter has put his hand over Jesse's shoulder, in an attempt to look like any other father and son making a go of it, and walks towards the man in the jeep. He is a tall man, made taller by standing on the tip toes of his steel toe boots. He wears a trucker cap that masks his face and a black vest jacket zipped up all the way on this colder winter's day. He also wears a duffel bag over his right shoulder, though it's rips and tears suggest it has seen better days with a better owner. As the two approach, the man must see them in his peripheral vision. He turns, allowing Peter a better look at his bearded face. He sees now that he is hardly a man at all. He can only be in his early twenties at most, but has the build of a man much older. Peter then takes a look at his eight-year-old son, who wears a loaded pistol on the left side of his belt and a knife sheathed on his right, and remembers how the world they live in, ravished by war, plague and death as it is, has forced many to grow up before their time.

"Howdy, stranger," the young man greets them in a slick sounding voice. Peter hears the zip of the man's flyers, and he turns to face the father and son. "Now, what brings you folks all the way out in the middle of nowhere?" He asks them both, though his sight is set mainly on Peter.

Peter considers sharing the flyers with the directions to Tent City with the stranger, but hesitates. "Why, we're looking for someplace to sleep is all," he tells the stranger. As he does this, he pats Jesse softly on the shoulder, reminding the stranger that he isn't alone.

"How you doing there, scamp?" The stranger asks Jesse, finally acknowledging his presence. "Well, I can't say you'll find anything to your suit your tastes around these parts," he assures Peter. "Unless," he continues, " you fancy spending the night in a burned out old church." The stranger smirks.

"Oh?" Peter, rubbed the wrong way by the stranger's smugness, decides to pull the folded flyer from his back pocket. "I hope that's not the case," he tells the stranger as he folds the flyer out in front of him, the piece of paper now creased but its text still readable. "You see, me and my son were hoping to find this place by the end of the day," he explains as he underline the words in felt pen with his finger. "It's supposed to be just down this road a spell," he derives from the writing on the flyer.

The stranger's smirk, the same one that had begun to boil Peter's blood, has now disappeared, replaced by a look of defeat. Unhappy to have been proven wrong so easily, the stranger snatches the flyer out of Peter's hands and takes a look for himself. "I had no idea this was here," he admits.

Peter, finding the stranger's behaviour quite laughable begins to smirk himself. "You know," he begins, "you're welcome to come with us, if you want," he tells him. "I mean, God knows, we could use a ride if you'd be willing to-"

"Why the fuck would they do that!?" The stranger asks himself suddenly, cutting Peter off and startling both him and Jesse. He turns his back on Peter now, and begins to search the duffel bag he wears over his shoulder. Peter and Jesse watch as he pulls from it a couple of empty tin cans and, to their alarm, a loaded pistol. The mere sight of the gun, which the stranger has placed on the hood of his car, its muzzle pointing directly at Peter, makes his heart race. When he finally pulls his gaze from the firearm, Peter sees that he has now pulled a walkie talkie from the his duffel bag.

Peter looks down beside him to see Jesse, his gaze fixed on the stranger, with his hand wrapped tightly around his pistol as he slowly pulls it from where it is tucked beneath his belt. He looks back at the stranger, who thumbs the walkie talkie as he shouts numerous names through the plastic, commanding any voices there might be on the other side to pick up. Peter begins to take a step back as he says, "Perhaps it might be best if we just leave you to it, then." But the stranger has other ideas.

"NO!" He demands, his thumb still on the walkie. But he's talking to Peter now. He spins round and, in one swift movement, grabs his pistol, thumbing the hammer as he grips the gun tight in with his sweaty palms, and points the muzzle in Peter's face. "Don't move," he orders Peter, much more calmly now. Peter slowly raises his hands. As he does so, he nudges Jesse with his elbow, a signal for him to do the same. With his other hand, he raises the walkie talkie to his quivering lips.

After many long seconds of electronic crackles, a voice, made gravely by the walkie, makes itself heard. The stranger replies quickly. "Hello? Curt?" He questions, a panicked look on his face. The boy is scared. "Curt, it's me. We got problems," he explains. "Two of them."

Peter is looking straight down the barrel of the stranger's gun when a single shot cries out, loud enough to deafen Peter. He brings his hands quickly to his ears, which are already ringing. When he reopens his eyes, forced shut by the suddenness of the shot, he no longer sees the stranger. Looking down, he now sees only his corpse. A pool of blood begins to form around the stranger's head, the liquid spilling from the single bullet hole protruding straight through the man's head. The look left on his face is one of anguish, his mouth hanging agape, his eyes wide open; lifeless now.

Peter turns to see the sight beside him. Jesse's gun is still smoking as he holds it raised in the air. He exhales, a sigh of relief now that the intense situation has come to its inevitable conclusion. Jesse loosens his grip on the pistol before lowering it and tucking it back into his belt for safe keeping.

It's Jesse's nonchalance towards killing the stranger that shocks Peter the most, but before he can so much as utter a word, Jesse speaks first.

"Thank me later," he urges his stepfather before walking onward, taking the lead once again, all without so much as taking another look at the stranger.

Peter is taken aback. He turns from his stepson to look at the stranger, whose body has already begun to decompose, his skin now as white as skimmed milk. He then realises that, having been shot through the head, the stranger is unlikely to reanimate, therefore removing the risk of having a walker on their trail. He wonders if Jesse did so on purpose. He is learning so quickly, Peter realises. Whilst Peter himself doesn't seem to be learning a goddamned thing.

He continues to follow Jesse, all the while wondering who was on the other side of that walkie talkie. Where do they come from? What's their connection to the people at Tent City? Most importantly, will they be coming after us? Peter looks over his shoulder at the corpse, fearing he already knows the answer.

* * *

Tent City occupies a lonely but wide glade at the end of a short, dirt road about a half mile from the old church. It is made up of a number of tents dispersed across the glade, as well as a single recreational vehicle that sits at the edge of the camp, a lawn chair placed carefully atop its roof. Placed in a location that allows for a community to group itself together without being easily surrounded with road long enough to allow the campers to see an attack coming from over a mile away, Tent City would make for the perfect safe zone, which makes it all the more disappointing for Peter and Jesse to find that it is as dead as the walkers that lurk in the woods around it.

There is sign of life in the camp as far as Peter can see. As far as he can tell, Tent City has been abandoned long ago, despite claims that its inhabitants are "still alive". It crushes him to have all this way only to find the camp as dead as the rest of the world. His grief turns to fury, and Peter feels his fists curling in anger. All this time wasted. Now, he and his stepson are left in the middle of nowhere, with the choice between a ghost camp and a burned out old church to sleep in. He feels like tearing through the plastic sheets and burning this entire city to the ground.

It's what Jesse finds next that stops him from doing exactly that.

"Peter!" He cries to his stepdad from across the camp, poking his head over one of the tents. "Over here!" He cries again, waving his hands in the air this time, helping Peter to find him.

"What did you find?" Peter asks him as he approaches his stepson, shuffling between tents and carefully stepping over old, ash-covered fire pits. He finds Peter on his knees, digging into a wooden crate filled to the brim with canned foods. For a crate of supplies so full to be simply left here like this seems foolish to Peter, and almost too good to be true. "Is this for real?" He wonders. The sight of so many unopened cans of fruit, vegetables, and more leaves him amazed. A warm smile spreads across Peter's tired face as he picks the cans from the crate, inspecting each one individually. He places an arm around Jesse, a silent congratulations on finding the stash.

With such an impressive collection in this one crate, Peter wonders what else the two could scavenge from the entire camp. The thought crosses his mind seconds before he hears a rifle being cocked behind him. Jesse turns first in a quick and sharp movement on instinct.

When Peter turns, the suddenness of the sound causing him to drop the can of peaches in his hand, he sees a line of men, women, and even three or four kids, has formed around them, almost all of whom bearing weapons of different calibre. One older gentleman bears a double-barrelled shotgun, whist the woman next to him, who looks old enough to be his wife, is armed with a 9mm pistol. In the middle of the long line of men, women and children, all armed to the teeth, stands a tall brunette in a tank top and torn jeans. She points her rifle at Peter, but she hasn't failed to ignore Jesse, who still holds a couple of their canned foods in his hands.

"Please," Peter begs the woman, raising his hands to surrender as he stares down the barrel of a gun for the second time that day, "we're not here to hurt anyone," he tells her, and it's the truth.

"No," she says, he finger on the trigger, "you just came to steal our food," she snaps.

Ignoring the woman's sassy remark, Peter slowly gets on his feet. "I'm Peter," he tells the woman and her group, "and this is my son, Jesse."

For a split second, Jesse catches the woman's eye - it's long enough to scare the boy into dropping the cans of food.

"Peter, Jesse," the woman repeats the names, greeting the father and son with a humble nod to each. "My name's Lilly," she tells them. "Now, please," she asks, "tell me what the fuck you're doing in our camp."

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

* * *

**So I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! Obviously it's a pretty slow start, but I have some big things in mind for the future of the series, so I hope you guys will stick around to see how things work out (or don't work out) for Peter, Jesse, Lilly and the people of Tent City!**

**If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a REVIEW. Also, FOLLOW/FAVORITE to stay up to date.**

**CHAPTER TWO coming soon!**


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